Unsavory bathroom antics aside, it was kind of an angsty Sunday. Katsu got home from Shannoxx’s birthday party around 3 in the afternoon (I’d driven home the previous night at 1am, shuddering up 93 at 50 mph with my hazards on and a bulged-out tire… but that’s another story) and suggested that we go out for dinner and a movie. Great, I said, awesome. Boozin’, eatin’, movie. Fantastic.

We’d sort of gotten it into our heads to take another stab at Hungry Mother for our dining enjoyment. It’s a new-ish restaurant in the Kendall area, highly touted by food critics and relatively well-reviewed by the folks at Chowhound. Last time we stopped in, we were on a search for alcoholic libations but, sadly, their bar was full, which I thought was lame. Clearly, they need a bigger bar.

At 4:30 on Sunday, I thought, there’s no way their bar could be full. I’d neglected to account for the possibility that, at 4:30 on Sunday, their kitchen might not even be open. It was cold, so we went to CBC for a drink to pass the time. I kind of hate CBC. After one midsummer visit where my salad was filled with sand and another instance where our waiter pretty much left us for dead, the place just rubs me the wrong way. Katsu ordered some buffalo tenders, which pissed me off because dude, we’re about to go to DINNER, and then I ate a buffalo tender and got a big bite of tendon, which pissed me off because, ok, ew, gross. So when we headed back out to Hungry Mother at 5:15, my mood had gone from bad to abysmal.

The hostess at the door responded to our “table for two” request with a look that suggested we may as well try to pry open a can of tuna with our toenails, then stammered out something about having openings at 8:30, and just one seat at the bar, you know, right now. Sure enough, the two tables in our direct view had “reserved” signs, and, sure enough, seven out of eight seats at the bar were taken. Now, I assume that Hungry Mother has more tables upstairs, but regardless, it’s FUCKING SUNDAY. WHO IS BOOKED UNTIL 8:30 ON SUNDAY?? I stormed out in a huff – like, how DARE they not have avails for two this early on Sunday?- and we wound up eating at Tommy Doyle’s across the square. Which was pretty much just ok.

I may never know the truth of the food at Hungry Mother. But that’s OK with me. Now they’re on my shitlist, along with CBC, Border Cafe, and OM. Fine establishments in their own rights that I loathe for pretty much no reason at all.